We got along OK, until one day we didn't

There you stand, your face turned to the window, your old hands nervously playing with the curtains. You turn around, smile at me. Somewhat apologetic. The soft gray of your eyes reminds me of the thin air in Glasgow, the place we’ve been living in for twenty years now. Oh, how innocent our plans to move to that small romantic house in Ireland. As soon as I finish university we move you said, and after that: As soon as I’ve saved enough money to quit my job, as soon as our children graduate, as soon as I retire. Now you just sit in your chair all day long and whine about how tired you are, too tired to move, too tired to call your children, too tired to make love to me.